Quidditch Quarrels: An Inter-House Romance
by raggedjeans
Summary: House rivalries have never been more ferocious. Even with dementors and a supposed mass murderer on the loose, the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams bare teeth for the win. Follow Captain Oliver Wood, Beater Fred Weasley, Seeker Draco Malfoy, and newly recruited Emily Rodriguez in a fiesty, romantic escapade for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

Hogwarts under the stifling control of the Ministry of Magic put quite the damper on the normally joyful return of students to the miraculous, ancient castle. For one, there was a particular chill and gloominess creeping through the air (then later recognized as a swarm of Azkaban dementors sent from the Ministry to protect the infamous school of witchcraft and wizardry). There was the rather offsetting news that a terrifying murderer and You-Know-Who supporter was on the loose and, better yet, he was after one of the students of the school. The constant fliers and reminders posted around Hogsmeade and Hogwarts that the Ministry is watching, and the Ministry is doing everything in its power to catch this man and protect the Wizarding world as well as the Muggle and the endless list of safety procedures to follow in case of encountering a dangerous wizard… no this was nothing like last year. At least the danger last year came from a giant snake living in the sewers.

Yes, the news had spread very thoroughly. Upon arrival to Hogwarts, one's first note could be its obvious lack of ability to _keep things quiet_ , as the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has hissed through his teeth several times for several Merlin-knows-what reasons. The entire student body, mind a few sputtering First Years, had heard about the previous Spring's exciting rendezvous with a Basilisk and how Harry Potter (yes, _the_ Harry Potter) had slain the Basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor and saved the youngest Weasley child from a very unfortunate death. Harry this, Harry that, and Merlin's beard here he comes again, now with a murderous, ex-Death Eater after him.

Rumor had it, however, that Potter wasn't as strong as the tales suggested. He climbed out of the carriages looking pale and shaken… apparently he had a small visit from a dementor on the Hogwarts Express. A group of Slytherin Third Years were on the steps up towards the castle when they caught sight of the bespectacled boy.

"You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?" A cool, amused voice broke out of the pack. Draco Malfoy, a typically arrogant and effortlessly handsome young wizard, smirked at Harry.

"Shove off, Malfoy," growled Ron Weasley, who had just dropped down from the carriage himself.

"Did you faint as well, Weasley?" Draco's voice contained more glee than malice, "Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"

The young Slytherins around him chuckled, amongst them a dark-haired girl with piercing eyes and a close-lipped smile. She wasn't one to usually laugh at the Malfoy boy's pathetic jabs at Harry, but the prospect of returning back to her beloved Hogwarts had put her in a good mood. Emily Rodriguez adored Hogwarts with all her heart, and she refused to let dementors or a supposed psychopath ruin her return.

"Is there a problem?" a voice was heard from the following carriage, it belonged to a raggedy man with a few scars on his face and tatters on his trunk.

"Oh, no – er – Professor," Draco responded quickly, then shot a grin to the rest of the Slytherins. He turned and started up the steps, nose up, expecting the group to follow. And they did, none wanted to stay under the glare of the new professor.

Emily, after taking one last look at the rather unprofessional looking professor, fell in step behind Malfoy, "So that's who they found for Defense?"

Draco snorted, "Yeah, my father told me about him. Remus Lupin, a loony who got the job just cause Dumbledore had a soft spot for him back in school," he shrugged, "Of course, he won't last more than a few months. Not with that outfit anyways."

"Well, he certainly seems… unconventional," Emily pressed her lips together, "Hopefully he'll teach us something."

Draco turned, walking up the stairs sideways to meet her eyes, "Ha, I wouldn't be too hopeful, Rodriguez. What do you care for Defense, anyway? Aren't you a potions kind of witch?"

"I'm a witch who prefers to be well rounded in every subject, _Malfoy_. Though I suppose that concept is new to narrow-minds like yours." She returned his smirk with one of her own and marched past him to get to the castle. Never mind the new professor, Defense Against the Dark Arts recruits never lasted more than a year. Emily had a focus this year, aside from her "well rounded" studies, and that was the Quidditch team. There was an opening for a Chaser on the Slytherin team since Martha Wingsley graduated last year, and Emily was certain that spot was hers. She had practiced all summer, her dives, her throws, her shooting, the position basically had her name on it already. All she had to do was destroy the tryouts. Easier said than done, of course.

* * *

The young Slytherin girl was not the only one impatient for the Quidditch season to begin, as the students poured into the Great Hall for their long awaited sorting, supper, and address from Professor Dumbledore, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat at the Gryffindor table twiddling with his silverware.

"Wood!" a cheery voice echoed from behind the captain as Alicia Spinnet, his fellow teammate, clapped him on the back and dropped on the bench next to him.

"Spinnet," replied Oliver Wood without looking up from the task at hand. He had levitated his spoon and fork and was sending them whizzing about the table as if they were broomsticks, "Have a good holiday?"

"Could've been better, we had a doxy infestation in July that took nearly a week to get rid of," Alicia turned her eyes from her captain to the games he was playing with his silverware, "What's in it for the team this year?"

The spoon and fork fell with a clatter onto the table, Wood turned and stared very sternly at Alicia, "We're going to win. We're going to train harder than ever before and we're going to crush Slytherin to a pulp and _we are going to win_."

Alicia, whose eyes were the size of saucers, burst out laughing, "Good old, Wood. This is your year, eh?"

"If it isn't this year then it isn't any year," mumbled Oliver, "My last year at Hogwarts, my last season as captain of this team. We've got to win the Cup this year, we've just got to."

Alicia placed a hand on his shoulder, "The teams the best it's ever been, Angelina and Katie and I never miss a shot, the twins have never been stronger, even Harry somehow got better, and you, Wood? I doubt Hogwarts has ever had a Keeper like you," she smiled and patted him, "Of course we're going to win, I can't imagine us doing anything less."

Oliver nodded and spoke a quiet thanks under his breath. He needed to be positive about this year's outcome, the odds already seemed to be stacked in their favor as Slytherin's best Chaser, Wingsley, had graduated last year. There was no way they could train up another one just as good in a few months. Still, he had to be diligent. Every last play would count this year and it was up to him to ensure his team perfected each one.

Oliver sighed and turned his head towards the front of the Hall, the sorting had just finished and Professor Dumbledore was standing up for his speech.

"Welcome!" cried the old wizard over the slight chatter throughout the room, "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think…" Oliver's attention was quickly stolen by a Quidditch daydream, which only happened far too often.

First, Johnson would veer to the left with the Quaffle, followed closely behind George Weasley, Spinnet and Bell get into triangle formation near the posts, the twins do that parallel hit by the Keeper, Harry distracts the other Chasers…

"Blimey, what'd you'd think happen if the dementors got into the castle?"

"Think they'd go after Snape?"

"No, of course not, they're after souls, remember?"

"Ah poor, soulless Snapey."

"His lack of compassion was what saved him in the end."

"Amen. To cruel, heartless bats."

"I'll drink to that, Georgey."

A soft tink of golden goblets caused Wood to look away from pretending to pay attention to Dumbledore's address and towards the set of ginger-headed twins sitting across from him who were obnoxiously slurping from their empty goblets. He stifled a laugh as Fred Weasley put his cup down and grinned at Wood.

"'Allo, Captain," the freckled boy saluted.

"Weasley and Weasley," Oliver nodded to each twin, "Ready for this year?"

"Ready?" scoffed George, "Always ready, Mr. Captain."

"Why I never knew a time when we weren't ready," winked Fred, "Got a fresh load of tricks up our sleeves. And naturally, a particularly slithery, green team will be receiving the best of them."

"You boys better work on not getting disqualified instead," Alicia interjected in a loud whisper, "And aren't you two supposed to be taking your O.W.L.s this year?"

"My dear Alicia," George reached forward and stroked her chin, "How can you expect us to focus on O.W.L.s with so many dementors mucking about?"

"That's absolutely true, Miss Spinnet," added Fred, "I believe that Hogwarts will be in extra need of a good laugh this year."

Alicia rolled her eyes at the Gryffindor Beaters, but before she could retort, Albus Dumbledore spoke the magic words, "Let the feast begin!" and the platters and bowls filled to the brim with delicacies of the wizarding world.

All conversation vanished at the appearance of food and Wood's worries about the Quidditch team was sent to the back of his mind. This was his last first meal at Hogwarts, perhaps he should enjoy it.

* * *

Fred Weasley was serving himself scoop of mashed potatoes when he heard laughter from a table over. He glanced over at the Slytherins, who were watching the Malfoy boy doing an impression of a terrified Harry Potter. One dark-haired girl seemed more interested in the shepherd's pie than the crudeness. She looked up as if she had felt him watching. Her eyes were a warm but deadly, dark brown, Fred felt something strange release in his chest. This odd staring contest seemed to last forever, he wasn't quite sure when his mouth had opened. He almost wanted to say something, but the moment ended. The girl broke the gaze, tucking her hair behind her ear before looking back to the meal in front of her.

Fred averted his eyes quickly, feeling a blush creep up to his ears. He'd never seen that girl before. Something made him want to look at her again. But no, he shook his head, Slytherin, bad idea. He forced the thought out of his head and turned back to the mashed potatoes waiting in the bowl in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The sun had barely begun to scratch the surface of the sky when Emily left her dormitory in a careful silence the following morning, wearing versatile flying robes and dragging her humble – yet mighty – her Comet 260 broomstick behind her. It was the first day of classes for all students but also the first day that the Quidditch pitch was open for use and (seeing as it was the first day and the literal buttcrack of dawn) also very unlikely for it to be occupied by another team or living soul.

She walked swiftly through the Slytherin common room and out into the dungeon corridors in the direction of the pitch, knowing that she would only have a couple hours or so to practice before having to rush back to the castle for first period class and hopefully scrape a piece of toast from the Great Hall along the way. Practice, however, seemed to surpass everything else of importance for it was the only way she could earn that empty spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team which has been Emily's dream since first year. Having attended a Slytherin-Ravenclaw match the first few months of school, Emily had taken one look at the players swooping and racing and diving and summersaulting through the air and decided that this was something _she_ was going to do. She had a toy broomstick as a child, one that only hovered a foot or so off the ground, but she adored it and played with it so much that by the time flying lessons with Madam Hooch started in the crisp Autumns of first year, she had been more than comfortable with defying gravity up and beyond her classmates (though she had stuck to the rules unlike stupid Draco Malfoy who decided to show off his rich boy skills to the whole glass and taunt Harry Potter in the air, a memory that didn't press too deep into Emily's mind despite the unfairness of Potter then being offered a position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team _as a first year_. Complete bogus.)

The hairs on the back of Emily's neck stood up as she walked outside towards the pitch, the early morning air was cool and quick, making her fully awake. She glanced up at the sky, slowly turning from dusty yellow to light blue amongst a tumble of clouds. Perfect for flying.

Suddenly a dark, indistinguishable shape zoomed past one of the spectator towers and into the pitch. Emily stopped in her tracks, keeping her eye trained on the tower, trying to spot it again. What was that? What if it had been one of the dementors the Ministry let loose? Emily looked around, her knowledge of dementors limited to the fact that they caused everything to fall cold, and scared the living shit out of people, and guarded Azkaban prison. But they wouldn't come this close to the castle, would they? She considered the odds and the risks. Deciding that it would be, in fact, too unlikely for that random shape to be a dementor and rendering herself capable of flying away from it, if it was.

She walked out onto the pitch, peering carefully up at the sky. She was ready to believe she had merely been seeing things when she heard a distinct _woosh_ from behind her. Whirling around she caught sight of a man on a broom, diving and looping around the goal posts in deep scarlet Quidditch robes… Oliver Wood the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Emily froze, she hadn't been expecting another person to be on the pitch at this early hour. But she knew that Oliver Wood, the infamous Keeper, was no ordinary person when it came to the likes of Quidditch. He was ruthless, working his team out in thunderstorms and demanding uttermost dedication from them. To Emily, it was admirable to be so devoted to the sport, but rather foolish since Gryffindor hadn't won in years. Perhaps he was wasting his energy on such a weak team.

The sandy haired boy hadn't noticed her yet, Emily considered leaving unnoticed but then decided against it, she had every much a right to this pitch as he did right now and she needed to practice. She went over to the shed where the practice equipment was kept and pulled out a Quaffle, out of the corner of her eye she saw Wood stop his diving, he hovered near one of the goalposts looking in her direction. She made a point of not looking at him and shook off the pressure from the senior player watching. With the Quaffle under her arm, she got on her broom and took off to the opposite end of the pitch, away from Wood, and began.

She flew just below the ring and tossed the Quaffle up and into the hoop, then quickly zoomed to the other side to catch it, then threw it back over again, just as she had practiced at home. She repeated this, from different distances, different speeds, through each one of the goalposts. Taking her mind completely off of her pitch companion and focusing on aiming precisely where she wanted the Quaffle to go. She didn't notice Oliver Wood fly over to her side of the pitch, keeping a significant distance, but stopping to watch her nonetheless.

"Hullo," said a thick, low Scottish accent and Emily jolted, nearly dropping the Quaffle she was about to throw. She peered up at him, sitting back on his broom, arms crossed, brow furled in slight confusion.

"Hi," she responded.

His eyebrows lifted as he spoke, "What are you doing here?"

"Practicing," Emily lifted the Quaffle, "Obviously."

"You're not on a team."

"No, but I'm going to be," she didn't dare alter her expression from a completely unreadable stone face, inside she was quivering slightly from his hazel-brown stare.

Wood smiled slightly and nodded, "That's the good spirit," he uncrossed his arms and flew down closer to her, extending his gloved hand, "Oliver Wood, Gryffindor team captain."

"I know who you are," she took his hand anyway, it was strong, "Emily Rodriguez, aspiring Chaser."

"And a Slytherin," he noted by the color of her tie, he raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused, "This makes us practically enemies already."

Emily let go of his hand, "Yes, well, I'm not on the team _yet_." She wasn't sure how she felt about calling Wood her "enemy".

"You're very certain you will be though?"

Emily scoffed, "I'm a better player than the rest of the fools that will be trying out next week, that's for sure."

Wood laughed, "Yes, darling, Slytherin isn't particularly known for their _talent_ per say, rather their aggressive…"

"You're one to talk, Gryffindor hasn't won the cup in years!"

"We could've, if they hadn't cancelled the tournament last year 'cause of the Muggleborn attacks," audibly, but under his breath, he added, "You can't cancel _Quidditch_."

"Well it won't be as easy for you _this_ year," Emily decided, "Because I will be playing and will make Slytherin the best it's ever been."

He grinned, "As if I don't already have the best team in existence."

Emily rolled her eyes and looked the other way, why was he even talking to her? Didn't he have anything better to do?

"I admit though, you have dedication" he went on, "Not many people would get up this early to practice on their own accord. So, you must really care."

Emily looked back at him, unsure of where he was planning on taking this, "I do really care." Quidditch was thrilling, enlightening, a burst of freedom and excitement, she chased those feelings as much as she chased the Quaffle. To play on the team would enable her to explore that euphoria that came with flying and the jittery high she got from competition. Of course she cared.

"How about this then," Wood locked his eyes with hers, as if he was about to tell her some huge, important secret that required all of her attention, "Why don't you practice with me today?" he stretched his arm up to the rings of the goalposts they were hovering near.

Emily blinked, not sure if she heard him right, practice with him? Hadn't he just declared them enemies and called Slytherin talentless?

She must have looked confused because he cleared his throat and clarified, "Not a big deal or anything, just today. Besides, it would be so much more productive, for both of us, y'know? You try to score on me and I'll defend. Good practice for both of us, eh?" he smiled again and without waiting for an answer took off for the rings, hovering in front of the middle one, looking at her expectantly, "Come on then, Rodriguez, show what you got."

Emily turned the Quaffle over in hand, doubting him for a second, was he making fun of her. But she looked at him, with that odd smile on his face and his eyes bright and excited, and decided he meant it. She flew up, a little ways in front of him, and chucked the Quaffle as hard as she could.

* * *

Oliver left the pitch at around 8:15 o'clock, classes starting at 8:30 and wanting to get something to eat from the Great Hall beforehand, he and Emily wrapped up their practice and he told her to go on ahead while he returned the Quaffle. She left with a small wave of goodbye.

He felt satisfied with how it all went, they had done a bit more than simple shooting, as he taught her a few fancy avoidance techniques that could come in handy during the tryouts. He wasn't sure why he bothered with it, normally the idea of sharing moves with another team was traitorous in his mind. But here he chalked it up to ensuring a noble opponent for the season. This Emily Rodriguez had brought back a refreshing spirit that he hadn't seen since his early years at Hogwarts, playing with Charlie Weasley and the team. Then it had seemed less like winning or losing and more based on enjoying the sport itself. She seemed to enjoy flying for the sake of flying, for the sake of being weightless and free. The point was to challenge yourself and the opponent to make a good game out of each other. It was fun.

Oliver grinned as he strolled back to the castle, broomstick over his shoulder. She had scored five times on him. He hoped to play with her again.

* * *

Emily made it to History of Magic with three minutes to spare, she sat down and listened in as Pansy Parkinson told everyone about Draco Malfoy's jokes during breakfast (again, all about Harry Potter). She rolled her eyes and looked towards the chalkboard, waiting for Professor Binns to begin class. She thought of Oliver Wood from just moments ago, how he saved all those Quaffles she threw at him, how shocked he looked when she actually scored a few, how he taught her some maneuvers, the color of his eyes… thoughts of Oliver Wood continued to occupy her brain for the rest of the morning. Then came Care of Magical Creatures.


End file.
